Blood of our Kin
by The Foolhard Fool
Summary: Blake never asked for pain and heartbreak. But it's coming at her on all fronts. Her mother's beating her down, her every move is being stalked, and her on-off relationship with Chibs is taking a toll. The outlook is bleak, but life never really went the way Blake expected.


**Blood of our Kin**

One

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**Disclaimer**: If I owned SoA, I wouldn't be posting FanFiction. 'Nuff said. Also, don't steal my characters and plot and shit.

**Warnings**: Violence 'n' blood 'n' swearing 'n' shit. Maybe some lovin'.

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Blake knocked heavily on the door, perhaps a little louder than she intended. She didn't care; chasing up errands for her mother was not her job. Lately, however, it had become as much.

Old and lazy, her mother relied heavily on Blake to do pretty much everything. Groceries, pass on messages. Anything she needed, Blake retrieved. It wasn't that Blake was a pushover; she was just intent on keeping the peace in her family.

When there was no answer, she knocked again, a little more frustrated. "Pippa! Answer the door, Pip."

Still no answer. Blake sighed. Her mother was useless, and her sister was just as bad. She knelt beside the potted bonsai, fishing around for the spare key she knew was there. Philippa possessed the useless ability of being able to lose her house key while sober. If it was a key, a purse, or any other important object, it was missing more often than not.

Letting herself into the silent house, Blake glanced down the hall, frowning. Philippa should be home. It wasn't like her older sister had anywhere else she needed to be.

Blake placed the key on the bill table and began to search through the house, a nervous pit forming in her gut. "Pippa?"

Her feet fell lightly on the plush carpet, almost soundless. The living room was empty, as was the bathroom and dining room. Blake kept going down the hall to the final room – the kitchen the door was closed, which was unusual.

Blake pushed the door open and stepped inside. At first glance, it was empty, too. Everything appeared to be in order, down to the smallest spoon. Even the photos and framed pictures hung perfectly on the wall. She went to close the door again and leave, figuring Philippa _was _actually out.

Then two small, bloody feet poking out from around the island counter caught her eye, and her stomach dropped and her heart stopped.

A red pool had formed, slowly creeping across the white linoleum. Blake's whole body seemed to freeze as the feet burning into her brain like beacons.

"P-Pip? Pippy?"

Blake crept across the room, as though worried any loud sound would cause a disaster. Though not religious, she silently prayed to every god she knew. Not Philippa, please not Philippa.

Then her vision fell upon the mangled body of her younger sister, and she seized the counter to stop from falling. An involuntary scream left her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, and, despite her efforts, her legs buckled.

Philippa's body was a mess of bruises and bloody, gaping wounds from where she'd been repeatedly hit and kicked and stabbed. Her clothes were torn, barely clinging to her lifeless skin, and her glassy eyes stared through everything.

On shaky hands and knees, Blake crawled over to her sister, dragging herself through the blood. She placed two fingers on Philippa's neck, feeling for a pulse. There was none. "Philippa, oh god."

Sobs wracked Blake as she bent over her sister's body, grasping her sister's hand tightly in case the body was to disappear and running her fingers through her sticky hair. She traced her fingers down Philippa's face. It was sickeningly cold, like a glass that had been kept in the freezer overnight.

Blake's body and mind was numb. This wasn't happening. It _couldn't _be happening. She shook her sister's body, willing her to come back to life. It remained cold, unmoving. What did she do? Her eyes searched the room, looking for something, _anything_ to help. They settled on the phone.

_Call the police. An ambulance. That's what you do._ Blake finally let her sister go and stumbled over to the phone. She grabbed it and fell on her knees. With shaky hands she dialled 911, and placed the phone to her ear.

* * *

She was sitting in her living room when they entered. After five minutes of knocking, Chibs had finally given up and let himself in with his own key – in all honesty, he'd only knocked out of respect.

With half a glass of whiskey in her hand, and two near empty bottles on the coffee table beside the couch, Blake didn't even acknowledge any of them as they entered. Her eyes didn't move, mouth didn't twitch. Instead, she lit a cigarette up and popped it in her mouth after a hefty swig of whiskey.

"Blake." Jax's voice shattered the silence.

She still didn't look at them. "I figured it wouldn't take Unser long to tell you," she said.

"He shouldn't have been the one to tell us," Tig pointed out.

Chibs glared at him. "What happened?" he asked, willing Blake to move more than an inch, to actually _look _at them. She didn't.

"I don't know," she answered. She swirled the glass around, watching the whiskey as it formed a sort of whirl. "I just found her."

"We're gunna find the bastards who did this," Tig promised. "We're gunna kill 'em."

"Are you? You know you need to find them first."

Jax shifted uncomfortably. He was thinking the same thing Chibs was; who? Who could have possibly done that to Philippa? "Do you know who-"

Blake cut him off, expecting the question. "No." Her gaze finally shifted from the whiskey to the three men. She looked like hell, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I don't know why anyone would want to rape and murder my sister. I don't know why they'd want to beat and stab her to death. _I don't know._"

Jax fell silent, sinking into the shadows. Tig dropped his head, kicking awkwardly at the floor. He was thinking, something he rarely took the time to stop and do. It was a mark of how serious the whole situation was, that Tig was thinking, Jax was speechless, and Chibs was too nervous to approach Blake.

"Where was Kegan?" Tig asked after a good five minutes of thinking.

Chibs hadn't thought of Kegan. He should have, but he hadn't. Where was Philippa's fiancé? Was he enough of a monster to do that to her?

Blake squashed that theory in a heartbeat. "I don't know where he is. But he's too much of a coward to do that," she confirmed.

Tig nodded, to himself of Blake, Chibs didn't know. He himself was busy thinking.

Philippa was a good girl, nearly impossible to hate. She was a lot like Blake in that sense. So who would do that to her? It was too brutal to be random. He just couldn't figure it out.

"We'll find them," Tig promised.

Blake turned her head from him. Her eyes fell on Chibs for a moment, a question in them, before dropping back to the whiskey.

Clearing his throat, Jax tapped Tig on the shoulder, motioning for them to leave. "We're sorry, Blake," he said. "She didn't deserve that."

The two made for the doorway, before Blake spoke. "It wasn't just her."

"What do you mean?" Chibs asked, a slight frown on his face.

Draining her glass, Blake finally got to her feet, grabbing one of the whiskey bottles. She stubbed the cigarette butt in the ashtray. "She was pregnant."

Chibs was filled with a sudden nausea. He was too shocked to speak. Jax and Tig both stood motionless, taking in what she'd just told them. They both had the look of a deer caught in a headlight.

"She hadn't said anything because she was only about 7 weeks along," Blake continued. "I don't even think Kegan knew. He probably still doesn't."

With a final awkward shrug of her shoulders, as though she wasn't really sure what she said, Blake left the room, holding the bottle to her lips as the amber liquid ran into her mouth.

Chibs stood there, trying to make sense of it. The sick feeling in him was slowly being replaced by rage. He turned to Jax and Tig. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly as he tried to find words.

"Stay here," Jax said. He jerked his head. "Take care of her. We'll go see Unser."

Relieved, Chibs nodded, mouthed a silent thanks, and went to find Blake. She was in her bedroom, leaning against the wall and staring blankly at a photograph of her and Philippa. The empty whiskey bottle was thrown carelessly to the floor.

On the bed were two dogs, curled into impossibly tight balls as they slept. They both looked up at Chibs' arrival. Benny, the husky, whined in greeting. Chibs recognised the small Maltese as Philippa's dog, Mia.

"Unser said that you found her."

Blake nodded.

"Jesus Christ."

"I'll have to go see mom," Blake mumbled. She glanced up at him. "We already know how that'll turn out."

"No we don't," Chibs countered. "This wasn't something you did, Blake. This was Philippa."

"Exactly," Blake spat. "It was Philippa. The golden child. The one she wanted."

"Come on, you can't say that."

Blake kicked the empty whiskey bottle. It clattered loudly into the wall, causing both of the dogs to jump. "Why? We both know it's true."

Sighing, Chibs grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a tight embrace. He kissed her hair. "You'll be alright, love. It'll be fine."

"No," Blake said, shaking her head in his chest. "It won't be."

* * *

"Mom?" Blake held the phone to her ear, hand shaking. She didn't want to make this call, but then, she didn't really have a choice.

The voice on the other end was tired, but hopeful. "Pippy?"

"It's Blake."

"Oh." Her mom's voice turned bitter. "Have you made the funeral arrangements yet?"

Blake sighed, downcast. She hadn't expected sympathy, or warmth, but it would have been nice for a change. "I'm still-"

"You know I can't afford all that money, Blake. God knows your sister deserves the best, but I just don't have the money."

"I know, mom," Blake replied. She stared at the bottle of whiskey in her other hand. How many was that now? She cast her mind, and could still see her sister, dead on the kitchen floor.

Not enough. She sculled the rest of the bottle and went to find another.

There was an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the phone. "I suppose I'll be able to find something. I might be able to take it out of my retirement funds. I wouldn't bother otherwise, but it's for your sister…"

Blake tried to ignore the sting in her mother's words. They tore a small hole in her heart.

"You'll pay for the rest of it, of course?"

"I'm sure I will," Blake confirmed. She hesitated for a moment. "How are you?"

"How do you think I am?" her mother snapped. "I've just lost my daughter."

"And I lost my sister."

Blake's statement went unanswered.

"When you've got all the details of the funeral, you call me. Don't do anything without my okay, you understand?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"Good. I have to go now."

The line went dead. Blake held it to her ear a moment longer, just to make sure her mother really did hang up, before she hit the end button and threw it on the table. She tossed the whiskey bottle in the rubbish and grabbed another from the fridge. If Chibs knew just how many she had, he'd probably have a heart attack.

He was out at the moment, doing something with the club. Blake didn't remember what; she didn't particularly care. Her mind kept going back to the previous day, and finding her sister, bloody and barely clothed. Who would do that? Blake felt sick every time she remembered it. Her sister must have been terrified.

Half a new bottle of whiskey in, her phone rang. She tried ignoring it, but whoever was calling was persistent. Blake answered irritably.

"What?" she snapped.

"Blake Harris?"

The voice was male, unfamiliar to her.

"Yes."

"Good. Very good. I'll be in touch, Miss Harris."

For the second time that day, Blake was hung up on. She blinked, dumbfounded, then hit the redial. It was a blocked number. She shook her head, still confused, and dropped the phone. Whoever it was, she didn't care. She had too much to worry about without all the prank phone calls. Everything had gone to shit at once.

The police were on her back; she needed to plan a funeral – and find the money for that; she still wasn't able to get in touch with Kegan; her boss was threatening to lay her off if she didn't come into work, and quite frankly, she couldn't be bothered with any of those things. She simply wanted to curl into a ball and cry until she had no emotions left. But that wasn't happening.

So more whiskey, and more smokes.

She became aware of Benny staring at her, his light brown eyes silently begging. He whined.

"Don't look at me like that. What do you know about death?"

Benny's tail wagged slightly, and he poked his tongue out and started panting.

"Nothing. That's what I thought. You can feed yourself tonight."

Burying her head in her knees, Blake closed her eyes and waited for sleep to find her.

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**The Foolhard Fool says**: If you like this, review this, because reviews make me happy, and more likely to update more often, and we all want that.


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